


Massage Therapy

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Cuddles, F/M, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Shameless, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is down for the count due to a mild injury and Sam asks you to look after him. As it turns out, Dean is very much like a pouty three year old when he's on bed rest with nothing to do....until he realizes that when you take care of him, there are some perks to this whole injury thing.<br/>(Gratuitous shirtless!Dean)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Massage Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so midterms suck and to cope with the sucky anxiety and sucky studying I tend to write shameless reader-insert fluff with Dean Winchester to make myself feel better (not sorry) because I physically cannot make out with him in person dammit.

This hunt was not going well. Three weeks of trailing a pack of vamps had left Sam, Dean and I on edge, exhausted and irritated with little to show for it. Every time we got even so much as a whiff of the vamps and their nest, they would up and leave, move someplace else.

 I stuffed the last t-shirt into my bag, hefted it onto my shoulder and tapped on the adjoining hotel door.

 “It’s open,” Sam said.

 “You guys ready?” I asked, as I stepped into their room. “I’m starv…”

I stopped mid-sentence at the sight of Dean still in bed, one arm draped over his eyes and in no way prepared to head out.

 “What’s…going on?” I asked with a questioning look at Sam.

“Dean can’t move,” he said. “Muscles spasms in his back. Probably not enough sleep, too many hours of sitting in the car, stress, whatever. Either way, he’s down for the count.”

 “I am not,” Dean protested. “I’m just resting.”

 “Yeah sure you are,” Sam said. “Look, we were going to talk to that widow, see if we could dig up any more leads on the vampires.”

 “Alright," I said, "not exactly my strong suit but I’ll go with you."

 Sam shook his head as he took my elbow, pulled me to the far corner of the room and lowered his voice. “I was actually hoping you’d hang out with Dean, keep him company, make sure he doesn’t need help with anything.”

I glanced at Dean, skeptical. “I thought you said he wouldn’t be moving much.”

“He probably won’t, it’s more of a precaution. He tried to get up earlier but I could tell he was hurting pretty bad.”

“You two better not be plotting over there,” Dean grumbled, glaring at us. He reached for a pillow, winced slightly then recovered quickly by turning his face away and pulling the pillow over his head.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll stay. But be careful out there, okay?”

Dean ripped the pillow away from his face as he heard my last words. “You’re not going with him?”

“Probably won't hurt to stick around a while."

“No you have to go with him. Sam, take her with you. She’s just going to be a pest, buzzing around me all the time and I won’t get a moment’s peace.”

“Excuse me?” I cut in.

Dean plowed on, paying no attention to my indignation. “It’s bad enough you’re making me stay here, you have to take her. You’re not facing these vamps by yourself. There’s too many.”

“First,” Sam said, holding up one finger. “I’m not making you do anything. You can’t even sit up on your own. How will you get food?”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, frowned then snapped his mouth shut. The need for food was a very powerful motivator.

“That’s why she’s staying.”

“Just for food?” I whispered to Sam, one eyebrow raised.

“Other things too,” he whispered back. “Second,” Sam held up another finger. “I’m not hunting the vamps. I’m asking a scared, tired, grieving widow some questions about why her husband turned up in a back alley with all the blood sucked clean out of his veins. I doubt it’ll take me more than an hour at the most.”

Dean’s expression turned sullen and he stared at the ceiling again, arms flung out on either side of him in exasperation. “Fine.”

I followed Sam to the door to make sure we were out of Dean’s hearing range before I touched his arm lightly and he stopped. “If anything goes wrong…”

“I know, I’ll call you,” he said with a reassuring smile.

After Sam left, there was a distinct, awkward and tense silence in the room that seemed to stretch forever. I hunched my shoulders up as if I could shrug out of it and slid into a chair at the little table next to the door. I tugged one of Sam’s giant encyclopedias of folklore and mythology towards me and started flipping through the pages.

Dean gave a loud and dramatic sigh but I said nothing and didn’t look up. I was determined to be as unobtrusive as possible. I didn’t like staying behind any more than he did but he obviously didn't want me around and I refused to be a pest. Even though Sam was merely asking routine questions – the part I was no good at anyway – hunting, looking for clues on the vampires’ whereabouts, anything was better than sitting around in a crunchy hotel room all day.

“What are you reading?” Dean asked.

“Myths,” I replied, turning another page. I wasn’t actually reading anything at this point, more like skimming to keep the boredom at bay but I was stubborn as hell and wouldn't let him have the satisfaction of my attention.

“About…?”

I shifted in my chair so my back was to him and the book was in my lap. “I wouldn’t want to  _pester_ you with boring details you don’t really care about.”

I grimaced at the harsh tone of my voice and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could suck the words right up again. That last bit was a low blow. Dean did care. He cared too much and here I was acting childish over a petty comment that had been made out of desperation to convince Sam not to leave him behind. It shouldn't be getting to me like this.

Dean groaned. “Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Yeah and in case you didn’t notice, I’m full of crap. I say things all the time that I don’t mean because I’m an ass.”

I still didn’t turn around. Part of me wanted to let him think about what he’d said and part of me was struggling to wave the doubts away before he could see them written all over my face. Countless times had I lain awake at night wondering if I was slowing Sam and Dean down, if I got in their way, especially when I wound up hurt after a hunt. It was one little comment, why was it bothering me this much? Normally, I would have dismissed it a long time ago but…I just couldn’t shake it this go around.

“Babe, would you look at me please?” Dean said, his voice tight with frustration. “I feel blind talking to your back like this.”

Still, I remained staring at the wall. I heard the rustling of movement behind me as he moved on the bed then a hiss of pain. I turned in my chair slightly to see him half propped up on one elbow, facing away from me, his shoulders bent over, his head bowed. A rush of guilt surged through my chest and I closed the book, letting it drop on the table with a thump as I came to sit on the bed next to Dean. I placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him down again.

“Take it easy,” I said.

Dean gritted his teeth as he sank against the pillows. “Like hell I’ll take it easy. Sam’s out there by himself, I’m stuck in this damn hotel room bored out of my mind already and I’ve pissed you off which I never wanted to do. It’s so stupid. I mean come on, a muscle spasm? That’s all this is? I’ve had worse and still not been flat on my back. I hate this.”

“Sam can take care of himself and you know it,” I countered. “You’ve got books and TV and I’ll go get breakfast in a couple minutes so there’s plenty to do. And you haven’t pissed me off.”

He glanced up at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? I thought…”

“Only a little.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Damn it.”

I pressed my lips together tightly to keep from laughing. It wouldn’t hurt to let him squirm on the hook for a little while longer. “Did Sam get you any ice?”

He shifted to the side a little to reveal an ice pack on the bed centered in the middle of his back.

“And that’s not doing anything?”

He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “Took the edge off.”

“What about painkillers?”

“No...”

I moved to where I had dropped my duffel next to the chair, picked it up and set it on the table. I poked through it until I found my large plastic bag of assorted painkillers, muscle relaxants and bandages I’d acquired over the course of my career as a hunter. My Advil bottle was empty – why the hell did I keep the empty bottle anyway? I wondered as I tossed it in the trash - but the Midol was half full.

“Are you serious?” Dean grimaced when I held the pills out to him. “Isn’t that for…you know…girl stuff?”

“You have got to be kidding me. How old are you, five? It’s just like any other painkiller, you dork. If it takes care of cramps, don’t you think it would get rid of a little muscle spasm in a heartbeat?”

“Well…yeah but…”

I glared at him. “Don’t make me hurt you more.”

Grumbling, he took the pills and popped them back.

“I’ve got one more idea, might help,” I said, pulling out my well-used tub of hot and cold muscle rub. Most of the time, it was the only thing holding me together on hunts when I was dragging along behind Sam and Dean, my entire body aching with exhaustion but I was too hard-headed to call for a break.

“Take off your shirt,” I said as I unscrewed the lid.

He smirked at me. “I get all tingly when you take control like that.”

“Dean,” I shot him my best annoyed look. “You can't move. It would be in your best interests not to irritate me."

He chuckled then started to sit up and his laugh died away into a wheeze. I dropped the tub, propped one knee on the bed at his feet and caught his arm. He gritted his teeth, sucked in a sharp breath and his face flushed red from the effort of swallowing the pain. He rested his forehead against my shoulder as his hand cupped my elbow and his fingers wrapped around my arm in a vise grip that would probably leave bruises. I said nothing. A couple bruises were no big deal anyway.

“You don’t have to act all tough,” I whispered, my lips brushing his hair. “I know it hurts.”

He let his breath out in a rush and groaned. “God, yes, hurts like hell.”

It took him a second or two to steady himself so he could breathe properly and remain sitting up but I didn’t let go and he didn’t push me away. When he reached for his shirt, the color drained from his face and his hands started to shake. He stopped, took a deep breath, then another and tried again only to come to the same result. Before he could object, I tugged on his shirt and pulled it up over his head. There was a little bit of a struggle when the fabric tangled around his neck and shoulders. While I carefully guided one of his arms back through the sleeve, his other hand grabbed my hip, his fingers digging into me a little harsher with each passing moment that he wasn’t lying down.

Finally, the shirt came free and Dean started to ease back against his pillows again but I stopped him.

“On your stomach,” I said.

Slowly, he rolled over and sagged into the bed, burying his face in the pillows. Working with Sam and Dean, I had seen them shirtless countless times when I took on my fair share of sewing up injuries, taping ice packs to sore muscles, even fishing out the odd bullet or two from bloody gaping holes in their bodies. It was nothing new and I usually tried to keep things professional to a certain point but…there was always a brief second where my breath would catch in my throat and I would mentally reprimand myself for staring. This time was no different with Dean’s back stretched out before me, no t-shirt to obstruct my view, and I had to force myself to  _focus._

“It’ll be chilly at first just so you know,” I warned him. “Then it’ll get warm, should help the muscle relax. And if it gets to be too much, say the word and I’ll stop.”

I scooped out a generous amount of the cream, rubbed it between my hands then placed my palms against his back. As soon as my hands touched his skin, he tightened his grip on the pillow and pressed himself further into the bed.

“Geez, that’s cold,” he muttered.

I gradually applied pressure in small, tight circles, alternating between the heels of my hands and my thumbs, starting at his shoulders and working my way down. His skin was impossibly smooth, smattered with a light dusting of freckles and the occasional scar. I knew nearly every story that accompanied every scar my hands encountered, partly because Dean was all too proud to recount old battle wounds and partly because I had been the one to stitch him up. At least this time he wasn’t covered in blood and I could take my time appreciating the swell and dip of the muscles in his back, the steady rise and fall of his broad shoulders with each inhale and exhale of breath. When I was about halfway down his back, he stiffened and jerked his head up.

“OW.”

Immediately, I pulled away. “That the spot?”

“Yeah, you found it alright.”

“Want me to stop?”

“No, no,” came the rushed reply. “No, it’s like…good pain.”

I focused on that muscle for a while, kneading lightly with my fingers then pushing with my palms. Dean sank deeper into the pillows but since he showed no other indications of discomfort, I kept going. The more I worked, the less tension I felt in his body. He hadn't been this relaxed in a long, long time.

“How does that feel?” I asked.

He arched his back and rolled his shoulders. “Better actually but don’t…stop or anything.”

“Dean Winchester,” I said in a mock stern tone. “I'm not your personal masseuse.”

“God I wish,” he sighed into his pillow. “You are in the wrong business, hunting with hands like that.”

“I’ll need a raise in pay.”

“Swindler.”

I continued kneading the kinks and knots out of his back. He was far more stressed and tense than he let on although that didn’t shock me in the slightest. I chalked it up to his annoying habit of choosing to ignore the personal issues at hand rather than talk about them.

When I was done, I started to move off the bed but he twisted with surprising agility for someone who was, supposedly, in pain, caught me around the waist with one arm and pulled me against him as he rolled onto his back again. I shrieked in surprise as he held me against his chest. Awkwardly, I tried to prop myself up without using my greasy hands but he tightened his arm around me and I couldn’t get away.

“You’re obviously feeling better,” I said.

“Thanks to you, babe,” he replied with a kiss to my shoulder.

“You’re going to hurt yourself again if you’re not careful.”

“If it means I get another massage, it’d be worth it.”

I squinted at him. “Now you’re flirting with slave labor. Let me go, my hands are nasty.”

“Your hands are perfect.”

“Dean…”

“Okay, okay,” he said as he released me. I climbed off of him and headed to the bathroom.

When I came back, Dean was lying on his stomach again and he’d pushed nearly all the pillows and blankets off the bed. I counted the spaces between each slow, steady breath, realizing he was probably asleep or very nearly there already. For a moment, I considered leaving him in peace to go get something to eat. I was still starving and I’d been working those kinks out of his back for over an hour at the very least.

As soon as the thought entered my mind, I tossed it away and slipped into the bed next to him, laying on my side so I could wiggle in closer to him. I propped myself up on one elbow and slowly traced my fingertips along his back, trailed one finger down his spine and then up again, skimmed my thumb across the ridge of every vertebrae, along the planes of his shoulder blades…

I was so preoccupied with Dean’s back that I didn’t notice when he turned his head to look at me until my fingers brushed across his ribs and his entire body contracted from my touch.

“That tickles,” he said in a raspy, sleepy voice.

“Oh really?” I raised an eyebrow, grinning. “The legendary Dean Winchester, master hunter of demons and all things that go bump in the night…is ticklish?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

I walked two fingers across the bed towards his ribs again. Before I could react, he caught my hand with lightning speed and pulled me on top of him again. A blush crept up my face at my vulnerable and far from appropriate position with my knees on either side of his hips, my hands braced against the bed next to his shoulders. His hands were firmly around my waist, holding me in place.

“What did I just tell you, brat?” he said with a playful tug to my ponytail, coiling one curl around his finger.

“I think you mean pest.”

He let his head drop back with a groan. “How many more times do I have to apologize for that?”

“Mmm…” I tilted my head to the side and screwed one eye shut. “Keep going, you might get there eventually. You know, if Sam walks in right now, I’m going to kill you.”

“Me?! Shouldn’t you kill Sammy for his god awful timing?”

“No, it’ll be you for putting me in this compromising position.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up in a half smile. “I don’t see you struggling to get away.”

“Where did you say that sore muscle was again? I feel the need to give it a good hard jab.”

“You fight dirty,” he teased, tipping his head up to bump his nose against mine. I tried to remain indifferent but failed miserably and smiled.

“I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for too long,” he hummed in triumph.

“You’re a jerk,” I mumbled against his lips.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Before I could get to it, Dean pulled it out and flipped it open. I gasped then attempted to snatch it away but fell just short.

“Well would you look at that,” he said. “Sammy and his horrendous timing.”

“Dude, take liberties with my back pocket like that again and you in your fragile state of recovery will be entirely at my mercy. Now gimme my phone.”

Dean flashed a mischievous grin at me. “Oh ho, entirely at your mercy? I like the sound of that.” He smirked and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey Sammy.”

I sat back on my heels as I listened to the one sided conversation, the brief “yes…no…alright, got it,” then Dean hung up and handed the phone back to me.

“Sammy has a possible lead on a new nest location,” he explained as he started to prop himself up on his elbows. “We should get going.”

I placed a hand squarely in the middle of his chest and pushed him down again. “No. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Babe, come on, don’t leave me here.”

“Watch some TV. Read a book. You’re not going,” I insisted, dragging myself off the bed.

“Why not?” he sat up fully this time though I still caught the slight wince that he couldn’t quite hide. “See? Good as new.”

I zipped up my duffel, slung it over my shoulder and gave Dean a quick kiss, letting my hand linger against his cheek just a little longer than necessary. “The answer is still no. Don’t you think I can tell when you’re faking it? Just sit this one out, Dean, we’ve got it. There’ll be plenty more hunts later.”

He leaned back against the headboard of his bed and sulked. “Better not get yourselves into trouble because I am not saving your sorry asses. Leaving me behind…”

“Be back soon!” I called over my shoulder and stepped out the door.

[][][]

Everything hurt so much. Sam had finally found the nest along with about half a dozen vampires, four of which were twice my size bearing uncanny resemblances to football linebackers. It was no easy task but we managed to behead them all though we came out a little worse for wear. Sam had one eye swollen shut and a six inch gash across his stomach that I would no doubt be stitching up later. I could already feel the bruises forming on my body and I was pretty sure I had at least a broken rib, maybe two.

When we got back to the hotel, I could barely pull myself out of the shower and into a pair of old sweats and a ratty t-shirt before I sagged into bed face first. I was too tired to counter any of Dean’s “I told you so,” comments. He’d pay for it later after I slept for a day, or two, or three.

Sometime during the early, incoherent, hazy hours of the morning, I felt something soft flutter against my back then my shoulder then my ear. My instincts flared to attention and I almost raised my hand to give whatever it was a good solid smack until large, familiar fingers slid over mine, curling into my palm.

“Morning, babe,” Dean whispered.

I sighed, practically melting deeper into my pillows with relief. It always took me a few days after a hunt to descend from fighter mode. Even when I was asleep, I dreamed of ways to behead vampires or salt and burn angry spirits. Sam and Dean had learned the hard way to wake me up at a distance or they’d be sporting even more bruises. Why Dean chose to change up the routine now and risk some early morning close quarters combat was beyond me.

I felt a corner of my shirt slide up until it was bunched by my shoulders and Dean’s hands were placed against my back.

“You looked like hell when you got in last night,” he said. “Thought you could use a little help with those sore muscles.”

A tiny gasp mingled with surprise and pleasure escaped my lips as Dean slowly began to smooth his hands over my back, applying the exact amount of pressure to feel phenomenally good but not painful even in the most tender of areas. Despite how aggressive he could be on a hunt, he had the gentlest touch that continually amazed me when he decided to let it show on the extremely rare occasion.

He continued massaging my back and shoulders, pressing with his thumbs in the more sensitive spots and kneading with his palms for the muscles that needed more attention to work the knots out. He gradually tapered off to skimming his fingertips over my back like I had done to him the day before only this time, his touch was so light and I was so ticklish that I shivered with each feathery contact of skin against skin.

He moved his hands away and I nearly whimpered out loud in disappointment…until I felt his lips against my back, barely there. He started at the base of my spine and trailed his lips up, placing kisses intermittently, his breath hot and gentle against my skin, until he got to my shoulders blades.

“You’re not a pest, babe,” he whispered in my ear.

I squeezed my eyes closed and groaned. That argument seemed like a lifetime ago and now felt miniscule, pathetic and tiny. “Oh, god, Dean, it’s no big…”

“I know it bothered you,” he cut in. “I shouldn’t have said it, teasing or not.”

Carefully, I rolled over to face him, tugging my shirt down. “Is it true? And be honest with me. I want to be done with this and it’s too early to be playing games anyway.”

He rested one hand against my cheek and brushed his thumb over my cheekbone. “No,” he said. “It’s not true. You patched me up. You watched Sam’s back when I couldn’t. You’ve helped out more times than we can count.”

I stared at him for a moment then took his face in my hands. “You’re forgiven…I suppose.”

He grinned and slid his hands to either side of my waist, his fingers creeping up the hem of my shirt where his thumbs rubbed against my skin. “Thank god,” he said with a sigh of relief. He kissed my collarbone then he stopped and raised his head. “What do you mean ‘I suppose’?”

I giggled and shifted onto my side, turned away from him. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

He made no response and instead curled himself around me, his chest, warm and firm, against my back, his arm wrapped around my waist, his chin tucked over my shoulder with a gentle kiss to the curve of my neck.

“This isn’t your bed,” I whispered.

“Can’t leave you in here by yourself, babe, monsters might get you.”

I smiled and took his hand, tugging him just a little tighter to me. “If you insist.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
